Zorro goes fox hunting
by Inuvik
Summary: WD's Zorro - When lack of sleep causes strange ideas, Señor Zorro gets more than he bargained for...
1. Chapter 1

_AN: This story takes place between episodes 9 and 10 of the first season. Enjoy :-)  
_

* * *

_Zorro goes fox hunting_

_Chapter 1_

* * *

A hand shook his shoulder.

With a moan of irritation, Don Diego rolled on his side. The warmness of his fluffy pillow on his face lulled him back into sleep.

The hand shook his shoulder again, with more energy.

Eyes still closed, the young don pushed Bernardo away before digging under the sheets. Why was he waking him up? It could not be noon already; he had closed his eyes a mere second ago.

A dry creaking sounded and bright rays of light suddenly flooded the bedroom.

With a grunt, he turned on his belly and buried his head under his pillow to be in the dark again.

"By all saints, Diego! Enough playing guitar, composing, and reading till undue hours. Now make me the honor to get up and ready yourself. We're leaving in twenty minutes!"

An intense shot of adrenaline made the young don's blood pressure peak.

"Father?" he exclaimed, rising straight on his arms and pivoting quickly to face the old don.

Blinded by the sun, he raised a hand over his eyes just as the door slapped shut like thunder, shaking the walls and the wooden floor of his bedroom.

With a deep sigh, Diego crashed back on the mattress, arms stretched in a cross, brought down by his father's vehement intrusion.

* * *

_**A month later...**_

A shining, early spring sun reverberated on the white adobe walls of the cuartel.

Stepping out of the tavern, his shoulders slightly sunk, Diego narrowed his eyes and looked around for Bernardo in the middle of the peones' stands of food and crafts. Feeling some movement on his right, he turned his head and sighed of relief. His loyal friend had seen him first.

As Diego climbed up in the donkey-driven car, Bernardo nodded with his chin toward the tavern's opened window and the laughs that escaped it.

"They are playing cards now," the young don muttered, slumping into the quilted seat and massaging his eyes, adding, "It was more than I could endure."

Getting up at dawn was difficult but manageable if it was to accompany his father and the vaqueros in the hills. But sitting down at a table to discuss business with half a dozen other hacendados for three hours... No matter how hard he tried to show some interest in their planning and negotiations, he could not tame all his yawns. Ineluctably, some were noticed and ill-interpreted.

The only thought snatched the young don another one. As he shifted to lean more comfortably for his nap, Diego caught sight of Bernardo staring at him with worry. After looking around him with suspicion, the mute discreetly drew a Z in the air and yawned before shaking his head.

The young don nodded in agreement. "I know, Bernardo. I have to find a way to convince my father to give up his idea to make a ranchero of me, or soon, it will be Zorro who will be seen sleeping upright with his chin on the pommel of his sword," he said with a faint smile.

Bernardo tilted his head gravely. Obviously, he did not find the image very funny.

"If you have an idea how to get me out of this mess, I'm all ears," Diego sighed, lowering his hat over his eyes to escape the bright light.

Just at that moment, the cuartel's heavy gate creaked open, letting escape a vociferating voice.

"And this time, don't even dare to come back empty-handed if you don't want to be reduced to a simple soldier. Am I clear, Sergeant?"

"Perfectly clear, mi Capitán," Garcia's tenor voice replied, "Lancers! Move on!"

Intrigued, Diego readjusted his hat and straightened up in time to see the sergeant and a patrol of a dozen lancers riding out.

A sparkle of life suddenly gleamed in the young don's hazel eyes.

"Er... Bernardo? I think I've got an idea how to solve my problems," he said with a smirk, grabbing the bridles to move toward the patrol.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Thank you for your reviews. They warm my heart :-)_

* * *

_Zorro goes fox hunting_

_Chapter 2_

* * *

A moment later, Diego stopped the car slightly in front of the imposing soldier on his horse.

"Buenos días, Sergeant."

"Buenas días, Don Diego," Garcia moaned, nodding weakly toward Bernardo.

"Is everything all right, Sergeant?" the young don inquired, frowning with a genuine worry about hearing such a weary welcome. "You seem rather tired."

"That must be because I did not get any sleep last night, Don Diego. And very little the night before... and all the ones since el Zorro appeared two months ago."

The young don frowned. "Oh! So you did not succeed in catching him last night."

Looking appalled, the imposing soldier shook his head and lowered his eyes on the ground.

"No, Don Diego, and the commandante is furious. Well, you probably heard him..."

"Indeed. Like everybody from Capistrano to San Gabriele. So I take it the rumors that the bandido has been seen in Santa Barbara were false?"

"No, they were right. We did stumble on him. But tell me, Don Diego, how can you catch a bandido who, from the hoof to the hat, is as black as the devil's heart? One moment you think you have him straight in front of you, and the next... he vanishes like smoke in your hands." The sergeant paused, in complete disarray. "This man is the devil itself!"

"It's the voice of exhaustion I hear, Sergeant, devils do not exist."

Garcia shuddered and shook his head. "I'm not sure anymore, Don Diego."

"What is it now, Sergeant?" Monastario's voice suddenly barked not far behind, "Why are you not moving away?"

The young don stretched his neck and saw the officer crossing to great strides the plaza toward them.

"Ah! De la Vega, it's you."

"Capitán," Diego said, bowing his head to greet the officer.

The commandante imitated the salute, though his clenched jaw showed how irritating it was to have to tame his boiling anger in his presence.

"I would appreciate greatly if you removed your car from the middle of the road, Señor. My men have an important mission to carry out and cannot be delayed by whatever highly philosophical topic you wish to discuss with the sergeant."

The young don glanced at the large saddle bags on the horses' rumps. "By the sight of their ammunitions and provisions, it must also be a long and perilous one. Tell me, Commandante, is this a campaign to capture the bandido who calls himself Zorro?"

Monastario sighed of impatience. "I am certain you were told that curiosity killed the cat, de la Vega."

"Unless it is the fox, Capitán?" Diego smirked, moving on quickly, "Do you know that the British made a national sport of hunting this animal, maybe you should write their ambassador in Mexico City for advice."

"Remove your car from the middle of the road, Señor, or I will-"

"Oh! Certainly," Diego cut, not letting Monastario make his threat, "It will be easier and more pleasant to ride side by side, Sergeant."

"What?" Garcia and Monastario exclaimed with a single voice as he tugged on the bridles and maneuvered to position the car next to the soldiers and in the same direction of motion.

"I was once invited to such a hunting party in Spain, but an unfortunate bad cold kept me shivering under my bedcovers. I certainly won't miss such an opportunity a second time."

For a brief moment, Monastario looked at him as if deciding whether or not he was serious. Then, he burst out laughing. "Coming from you, de la Vega, this is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. You, hunting! You would not even know where to stand between a rifle and a prey."

Diego straightened his shoulders and raised his chin at the mocking remark. "I grew up in a rancho, Capitán," he replied, upset.

"But, Don Diego, you would need a horse to join us, you can not come with... er... a car driven by..."

Not to laugh at the sergeant's dumbfounded face was hard. The young don furrowed his brow, and clenched his jaw tight, deciding to push on his upset play.

"Mules?" he completed.

The brave sergeant nodded, looking embarrassed to pinpoint this detail.

"I fail to see why," Diego said, "Believe me, these two beasts can run pretty fast under Bernardo's firm hand."

On these words, he gave the bridles to his stunned friend while Monastario rolled his eyes.

"Hunting with mules..." the capitán muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's more than my ears can stand. Know, Señor de la Vega, that the King's army is not at your service to provide you with entertainment. No more than you are fit to hunt down a criminal or any animal whatsoever. Now-"

"Then allow me to join as an observer, so I can see how a valiant soldier like Sergeant Garcia works. I promise to be as discreet as a painter staring at the source of inspiration-"

"Enough of this ridiculous farce, de la Vega!" Monastario barked, ire making blood rise to his face.

Clenching his jaw, Diego lowered his gaze on the ground like a reprimanded child.

"So I see you won't help me..." he said, sending a furtive, desperate glance toward the sergeant.

"Help you for what, Don Diego?"

The young don sighed and shook his head.

"No, no, Sergeant, do not bother. I will find another way. Must be this last book I read about some young noble from the countryside riding to Paris to become a musketeer. I so much wished I could be like him. But the commandante is right, I overexcited myself. "

"Glad you finally came to your senses, de la Vega," Monastario said, turning away just as the sergeant added:

"Please, Don Diego, I am your friend. And friends do help each other. What is troubling you so much?"

"If you insist," the young don replied, cheering up again. Before the capitán intervened, he continued, "Since my return from Spain, my father seems to think that I'm a worthless son. I was hoping that helping you capture a dangerous bandido like Zorro could help me redeem myself in front of his eyes. What do you think?"

Monastario's jaw fell to the ground while Garcia's eyes widened so large that the young don expected they would pop.

"Oh... Don Diego... this is no small business you are talking about. I do not think this is such a good idea."

The young don's shoulders sunk as he asked, desperate: "But what should I do?"

"Let me propose you another way, de la Vega," Monastario intervened with a fawning voice, "If you insist on delaying my men in carrying out their duty, I will have you arrested for obstruction to military affairs. Do you think it will be enough to grant you fatherly redemption?"

Diego straightened with a horrified expression on his face. "My taste for adventure does not include a visit to your filthy cells," he said, disgust in the voice.

"Then go back to your hacienda in a straight line. I am certain you will find there another fascinating book to live any _adventure _you want in all safety," Monastario smirked, before clapping his heels and bowing his head to salute.

While the officer walked back toward the cuartel, Sergeant Garcia sent him a pained glance.

"He will do it, Don Diego, trust me, it is better to order the little one to bring you back home."

The young don let out a sigh of defeat.

"I will, Sergeant, but first I promised Fray Felipe that I would visit him today. After all, maybe he will be able to help me."

"Oh, Fray Felipe is always of good advice. He will help you better than me. Now, if you pardon me, Don Diego, I'd better go before..." The soldier nodded toward the cuartel.

"Go ahead, Sergeant, and my prayers may go with you."

"Gracias, Don Diego. I will need them," Garcia replied with a sigh, "Muchachos? Move on!"

While he watched the patrol riding away, the young don felt a small blow in his side.

Diego chuckled upon seeing the interrogation point on his loyal friend's face. No doubt he was wondering if he had fallen on his head!

"Don't worry, Bernardo, there was very little chance that I would succeed by getting an invitation to the fox hunting. It was merely a way to convince Monastario to definitively erase my name off his list of suspects. Let's go to the mission now to reiterate this complaint. Fray Felipe knows me for too long, and unlike my father, he spends hours each day in meditation. I am afraid where his thoughts could lead him."

As he said those last words, the young don lowered back his hat over his eyes and leaned his head in the corner of the car's wall. A minute had not yet passed that a slight snore came out of his half opened lips.

* * *

The settling sun was coloring the sky in shades of warm orange to purple tones when Diego entered his bedroom. A moment ago, he had wished his father buenas noches in the patio, declining his invitation to enjoy the evening quietness with a glass of brandy.

A mischievous smile appeared on Diego's lips as he kneeled on the ground and stretched an arm under the dressing table. He would enjoy the evening, but not with a glass in hand.

Diego was appreciating the feel of his sword when a knock sounded on his door. Hastily, he put the weapon below his bed sheets before saying, "Enter."

A sigh of relief escaped the young don's lips as he saw Bernardo appearing. With a yawn, he retrieved his sword, and moved toward the fireplace.

"Come, we have a busy night ahead of us, mi amigo," he announced with a smirk.

His thumb found the button hidden under the mantelpiece. With a slight creaking, the secret door opened, and he waved his friend to enter first.

But Bernardo did not budge. Arms crossed on his chest, he shook his head and pointed to the bed.

"I do not feel that tired, Bernardo. Besides, I need your help for a little stratagem I thought about when I talked to Fray Felipe earlier. I want you to dress as Zorro and take Tornado to Capistrano. Make certain that you are seen and come back."

The mute frowned his trouble and pointed to the young don's sword.

"I will go to the pueblo trying to redeem myself," he said, securing his sword to the belt below his waist scarf, "I saw two men sitting at the bar this morning. I am certain that they are part of the group of bandidos I scattered in Santa Barbara a few days ago. Cut from their fellows, probably short on money, most of the soldiers being away..."

The young don paused to blow on all the candles, save for one that he gave to Bernardo. "I fear they might try to hold-up the tavern."

The warm glow cast shadows on the mute's grave face as he drew another Z in thin air.

"No, not this time," Diego replied with a smirk, before moving to open the door to the little balcony giving direct access to the road. As he was about to climb over the iron guardrail, he turned his head toward his friend. "Do not worry, mi amigo, I will let the capitán do most of the job."

And on these last words, he jumped into the night.

* * *

_AN: I know, Diego could not have read Alexandre Dumas' novel for it was first published in 1844. But this was too much fun to resist twisting history's arm a bit :-)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Zorro goes fox hunting_

_chapter 3_

* * *

Enrique Sanchez Monastario was sitting behind his desk, writing the last minutes of the day. A day that would have been uneventful if this annoying popinjay de la Vega had not disturbed it with his stupid idea to join his military forces. On mules!

"Imbécil..." he muttered as he wrote down the incident.

The capitán briefly stopped his quill to sigh deeply. How could such a proud royalist like Don Alejandro de la Vega have sired such a weakling? This was a mystery. Or was it this baboso Garcia who was rubbing off on the de la Vega's scion? The two men certainly spent too much time drinking together. No wonder the country was in decline with such a decadent youth, more interested on talking and drinking than on fighting. An arrogant nobility which always knew better than everyone else, supported in their so-called rights by those cursed Franciscans and their lenient, weakening morale. They would be the doom of the kingdom of Spain.

A knock sounded on his door.

"Enter!" he barked. Without raising his head from his log book, he added, "Is everything quiet in the pueblo, Corporal?"

"Ah! It's just the reason why I wanted to talk to you, Capitán."

Not recognizing Mentès' voice, Monastario jerked his head straight and saw de la Vega walking in his office.

"What are you doing here, de la Vega?" he asked, slowly rising to his feet while the troublemaker was slumping in his sofa. "And why on earth do you have a sword hung at your side?"

"These are much troubled times, Capitán, one is never cautious enough when riding alone in the night."

"Riding alone?" Monastario repeated, troubled to see the young don taking out a lace handkerchief and mopping his forehead. The night was fresh. How could he possibly be sweating? A closer look revealed that the young man was rather pale, and his clothes were a bit crumpled, dusty on his knees and elbows.

"Have you been attacked?" the officer asked, suddenly worried.

"Attacked? By all saints, no. What a dreadful thought."

Realizing that he was still up, Monastario sat back down in his seat with a growl. Was he going to have to worm out the reason of the popinjay's presence in the pueblo so late, in his office moreover?

"What are you doing here, de la Vega?" he asked for the second time, sending an irritated glance at the young popinjay.

The young don shifted.

"You remember, my manservant, Bernardo?"

Monastario rolled his eyes.

"He was coughing so hard that it was unbearable."

"Mutes can cough?" he asked, before waving the young don to continue.

"Being mute doesn't mean that the poor thing doesn't have a throat, Capitán. He was coughing a bit like a coyote would do with a bone stuck in the pipe, very disturbing and painful to hear, I couldn't focus on my new composition any-"

"Come to the facts, de la Vega. I don't have all night," the officer sighed. For once he did not have to listen to Garcia's idiotic remarks; he had to suffer de la Vega's...

"Well, to make it short, I had eaten all the honey during the winter, so I felt slightly guilty. Despite the fresh weather, I decided to come to the pueblo to buy another jar of honey. Hence the sword as I did not wish to wake up my fath-"

Monastario closed his eyes and took a very deep breath. There was only so much he could endure. "You came to buy honey," he cut in, standing up again. While the young don shifted his conversation and was now praising the honey coming from the hills surrounding Santa Barbara, he headed toward the door.

"Ensign Perez!" he barked, searching for the silhouette of his lancer near the opened gate. "Ensign-"

"Oh! Capitán, where was my mind! Ensign Perez is just the reason of my presence here."

Not really listening anymore, Monastario was searching for the skinny silhouette of the soldier. "Corporal Mendès!" he cried before slightly turning his head toward de la Vega, "If you have a complaint about one of my men, it could have waited for tomorrow morning. Damn!" he cursed, furious that the noncommissioned officer lacked to report instantly. A bunch of unruly washouts. All of them. At least Garcia would already have rolled out of his bed and staggered his fat paunch to report.

"I have no complaint to fill," the young don replied.

Monastario felt his nerves tensing dangerously as he stepped out on the porch. "Soldier!" he yelled to the guard watching the cells, "Have you seen Ensign Perez?"

In the courtyard, the lancer straightened and shook his head, "No, mi Capitán."

"Arh!"

"Stop crying so loud for nothing, Capitán, or else I will feel obliged to fetch you a jar of honey too."

"De la vega!" he barked, pointing a threatening finger to the popinjay's chest, "If I were you, I would go straight back to my hacienda without losing a second. I am running out of patience with you."

"That is quite obvious, even to me," de la Vega replied, standing up with a sheepish expression on his face. "Oh, by the way, you will find your two missing soldiers at the tavern."

"What?"

Monastario frowned as the young don headed toward the door, eyes on the ground. After two years by Garcia's side, he knew this way of sneaking out hid some kind of idiocy. "Wait a minute, de la Vega," he said, trying to control his tone for this was not that baboso of a sergeant in the office with him, "Would you have the courtesy to explain to me why my two soldiers are in the tavern?"

With amazement, the capitán watched the popinjay sitting back in the sofa, resuming his previous tale as if he had not been interrupted.

"Certainly, Commandante. So I went to the tavern to buy a jar of honey, and it is when I saw two strangers at the bar. I had seen them at exactly the same place this morning, so I took out my watch and wondered. How can two men be sitting for almost eleven hours without moving?"

"We are on the Camino Real, de la Vega. There are strangers everyday in the tavern!" Monastario cut in, sitting back down behind his desk. Feeling suddenly tired, he massaged his temples to will a rising headache away, muttering, "Why am I listening to this?" This degenerate pueblo would be the death of him.

"Eleven hours is a long time, especially without a book to-"

"Come to the facts, quickly!"

"I ordered Ensign Perez and Corporal Mendès to watch the strangers."

The capitán's eyes widened out of dread. "You what?"

"I thought it wisest to-"

"Wisest?!" he barked, standing up, trying to crush an urge to grab the young don by the collar and throw him out. Ready to explode, he pointed a very threatening finger to the young man's chest. "You stay here. I am not finished with you."

After grabbing his jacket on the back of his seat, he burst out of his office. "Lancer! Come here and guard my door. If de la Vega runs away, you will share a cell with him for a month."

"Sí, mi Capitán!"

While the soldier straightened to stand watch, he slammed the door and headed toward the posada with the firm intention to drag the two stupid soldiers back to the cuartel by their ears.

* * *

Inside the commandante's office, Don Diego scratched the rear of his head and winced.

Maybe the price to pay for this little joke and stratagem to arrest the two bandidos was going to be a tad expensive.

He doubted Monastario would truly keep him for a month. He had just hoped for a day or two, but at the sight of the daggers in the officer's eyes, maybe he would be in for a week. Unless his father would pay the fine to free his lazy, worthless scion.

Diego chuckled. Of course his father would pay. He would certainly not suffer having his son in jail. And after all, his intentions were noble. He only wanted to keep the innkeeper from being robbed.

Even if being arrested was not the way a good son would choose to redeem himself, being in Monastario's cells could be considered an act of bravery under such circumstances.

A smirk appeared on the young don's face as he took a deep breath and relaxed. Icing on the cake, he would now have plenty of time to catch up with his sleep.

He was dozing off when the door creaked open.

"Get out of here, de la Vega, before I change my mind and have you arrested for usurpation of authority!"

Diego's eyes sprung open. Had he well heard?

"Wh-what?" he asked to the officer.

"Out!" the latter barked, removing his jacket and loosening his collar.

Troubled, Diego leaped to his feet, and bowed his head slightly, saying, "Muchas gracias, Commandante."

A growl answered him as he walked out of the office, free. How could this have happened? Had he not been irritating enough? He would never have suspected that Monastario could be that lenient. Was the man fearing his father's relations with the governor so much?

Disappointed, Diego let out a deep sigh.

If he had disturbed his father in his study with such a comedy act, he would have been kicked out in no time, and maybe even by the window if it had been closer than the door.

Passing by the two soldiers he had managed to attract to the tavern, now back to their watch position at the cuartel's gates, Diego strode across the plaza toward his horse. With satisfaction, he noticed that he was the only one tied at the wooden guardrail next to the posada's door. The shutters were closed and no light filtered through them. The commandante had obviously put a term to the evening and closed the bar.

As he untied his palomino, Diego leaned an attentive ear. Not hearing any sound, he mounted, and rode away, yawning. With this little escapade, it would be close to midnight when he would reach the hacienda. Well, five hours of sleep was still better than the three he had gotten the last few nights.

He was leaving the sparsely wooded Camino Real to ride on the rocky path going up the hills toward his bed, when a man suddenly sprung from a clump of trees in front of him. Surprised, Diego pulled on the bridles. As his hand automatically seized the pommel of his sword, a rope fell on him and tightened around his chest.

Scared, his steed reared, and threw him to the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

_Zorro goes fox hunting_

_chapter 4_

* * *

As a lasso immobilized his arms, Diego felt his palomino rearing. An agile caballero, he could have stayed mounted if a sharp tug on the rope had not brutally dragged him down. While his steed's neigh of panic echoed in the night, he crashed on the dusty ground, his left shoulder cushioning the fall.

Ignoring the dull pain, he rolled on his stomach to stand up when another tug on the rope tightened the lasso knot further and sent him biting the dust head first.

"Do not resist, Señor, if you value your life," a grave voice in front of him threatened.

Diego jerked his head straight.

The small cotton wool clouds that strewed the night sky reflected enough moonlight to allow him to see his assailant. In the half darkness in front of him, a bulky silhouette stood, the clear shape of a pistol in one hand, the end of the rope in the other.

Spitting a mix of earth and blood, the young don straightened to his knees when the sound of boots crushing on the dusty road behind made him cast a furtive glance above his shoulder. A lump formed in his throat. The bandido who had sprung in front of his path a moment ago was also aiming a weapon at him. He was cornered.

"I have little belongings on me, Señores," Diego said, heart beating wildly in his chest.

"Your purse does not interest us. It is you that we want," the rogue in front of him replied.

The young don's eyes widened. "Me?" he repeated, his heart missing a beat.

Diego's jaw clenched as his eyes scanned the rocky hills while his mind raced to find a way out of his predicament. But with two pistols aimed to his person, what could he do? "Why?" he asked, temporizing while he tried to loosen the rope around his chest. He just needed his right hand free.

But a kick in the chest sent him crashing flat on his back, tightening the lasso knot around his arms further. The bandido approached, wrapping the rope around his arm to keep the tension as he moved forward. Out of reflex, Diego swept the rogue's feet with a sharp kick. In his fall, the bandido pressed the trigger. A shot echoed, tearing the night. The bullet sliced the air near the young don's head and hit the ground behind him while the other bandido cried.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Diego leaped to his feet and kicked the bandido holding the rope in the head. But as he pivoted to face the other bandido, the butt of a rifle swung the air and hit him hard in the temple.

For the third time, Diego tasted earth in his mouth.

While he fought to stay conscious, he was aware of being tied tight, hands secured in front of him, and disarmed. A hand grabbed his jaw and jerked his head up. Diego raised unfocused eyes toward his captor.

"Ah... even the weakest animal, when cornered, puts on a fight," the bandido with the rope muttered, spiting blood on the ground and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "There's more to your credit than the commandante said."

_What?_Diego frowned, struggling to will his dizziness away. Who had said what? As bile suddenly burnt his throat, he felt his eyes squinting, and had the greatest difficulties forcing his eyelids to stay open. A slap on the face hit him but he barely registered it.

"Ahr... We've tampered with the merchandise."

"The commandante did say to make it look real."

"Doesn't matter, I have a change of heart."

"What? And the two hundred pesos that Monastario promised us upon taking this fop to old Pedro's barn?"

"Believe me, mi amigo, in a few days, de la Vega will be worth more than two hundred miserable pesos. If some of us are captured, we'll use him as a bargaining chip, if not, we'll then ask for ransom. Free his horse so people think for now that he had a riding accident."

A neigh suddenly sounded and hooves kicked the ground.

Listening to the conversation with a detached ear, like one would watch a distorted reflection in a mirror and ponder _is this really me? _Diego forced himself to turn his head and searched for his horse when a hand suddenly grabbed his arm and hauled him up on his feet.

"Stay up, Don Quixote, if you don't want to be dragged on the ground like dead meat," the bandido who sounded like the chief ordered. Condescending slaps hit his face as the man added, "Take it as a taste of real adventure, though I admit, a bit more intense than the capitán wished you to experience."

Diego's foggy mind was still processing the warning when he suddenly felt a tug on the rope and was forced to walk behind a horse.

Slowly, the fresh night dispelled the heavy fog in which the young don struggled, and allowed him to feel the danger. Adrenaline flooded in his veins, making his heart beat faster, sharpening his senses, and waking the fox's up. An angered fox who incredulously pondered about his predicament, and its origin.

Now he understood why Monastario had let him go, free. He wanted to give him a lesson, _a taste of real adventure_, as the bandido had sniggered. Had there been enough air in his compressed lungs, Diego would have let a long sigh of despair. This could be called having a taste of one's own medicine.

He had underestimated Monastario's ability to deploy tricks of his own. In a war, such mistake could reveal lethal. However, what these men had overlooked was that a bandido would outsmart them both.

He had to find a way to escape now.

But being dragged behind a horse on an arid plain was a situation one could not withdraw from without difficulty.

Cautious, the bandido who held the rope did not let any loose. Each time Diego moved forward a bit faster to create a slack in the bonds, a quick tug tightened back the rope around his chest. And even if he managed to free himself, the flat landscape offered little places to hide. Under the moonlight, his dark silhouette would be too easy to spot. He would be overtaken in no time.

After what seemed hours at a forced marched, the terrain began to grow uneven and rockier.

Despite his exhaustion, Diego's eyes were still sharp when, in the distance, the dark outlines of large rocks piling on top of each other in a precarious balance appeared. _Capistrano..._ In his mind rose the certainty that the bandidos' camp was now very close. The rocky hills around the pueblo offered numerous places to hide. More than once, he had lured Garcia and his lancers in a hide and seek session there.

He had to escape now.

An eerie mix of fear and thrill twisted the fox's guts as a plan formed in his tired mind.

Jaw clenched, he stared at the ravine that grew deeper at his feet. He had to roll fast enough to force the rope out of his captor's hands. Diego's brow darkened as another possibility rose. He did not think it was the case, but if the bandido had wrapped the other end of the rope to the pommel of his saddle, his attempt would fail. A large shadow twenty yards down attracted his attention and cut short his thoughts. _A bush._ Hoping that he was not mistaken, he threw himself in the void.

As the rope tensed and tightened painfully around him, a cry of surprise echoed, followed by the sound of a body falling on the hard ground. Suddenly, his speed increased. Heart beating wildly in his chest, Diego curled into a ball as much as his ties allowed him and braced for the coming impact.

It came fast.

For a second, he feared that his momentum would make him bounce above and pursue his fall, but finally, the thorny branches stopped his reckless stunt. Wasting no second, he rose to his knees with a growl and forced his arms to spread in order to loosen the slipknot. Just as he managed to make the rope move up his shoulder, the dismounted bandido violently crashed on his side, sending him through the bush. The loose rope tightened again and skidded on his shoulders. With dread, he felt the noose closing on his neck.


	5. Chapter 5

_Zorro goes fox hunting_

_Chapter 5 _

* * *

As the noose strangled him, Diego felt the rope tensing below his fingers. Out of reflex, he grabbed it, and after managing to stabilize himself on his knees, he tugged sharply to snatch it from the bandido's hands.

The rope came, but unbalanced, he fell back in the steep ravine. Clenching his jaw, he rolled down for a few, long seconds before the ground suddenly vanished beneath him. A dull pain seared in his side when he hit a rock, rolled, and fell again. Unable to stop the fall, he curled his spine to protect his head below his arms, until his ordeal came to an abrupt halt when his body stuck between two rocks.

Ignoring the complaint of his aching body, he tried to remove the pressure of the noose on his neck when rocks fell from overhead.

"Where is he?" one of the bandidos shouted above him.

Startled, Diego slid back into the hole to hide. But an angry rattle sounded. Eyes wide with dread, the young don leaped out.

"He's down there!"

A shot followed and missed to hit home. While its echo spread, Diego climbed and jumped into the maze of rocks and bushes at the bottom of the hill, putting as much distance as possible between his pursuers and him. If they wanted to get him, they would be forced to abandon their horses. That put them on an equal level, and increased his chances to escape. At least until dawn.

Despite his wobbly legs, he maintained his pace, melting into the shadows. Not able to detect the bandidos' steps above his breathing and the pounding of his heart, he stopped behind a tree to listen just as the dark shape of a horse appeared through the leaves.

Nerves still frayed by his encounter with the snake, he jumped and cringed before realizing who was standing in front of him.

"Tornado," he whispered while Bernardo, dressed in the fox's clothes, dismounted at his feet, "What are you doing here, mi amigos?"

In the half darkness, he saw the mute rubbing a finger under his nose, and pointing at the black steed before pointing at him.

"He smelled me?" the young don asked.

Bernardo nodded.

Diego chuckled and raised his hands in front of him. "Bernardo, cut these quickly, there are some bandidos lurking around, searching for me."

As soon as the rope around his wrists was severed, the young don hastily removed the noose still hanging around his neck and threw it down with a sigh of relief. What a disturbing close call this had been. Eager to put as much distance as possible between the bandidos and him, he mounted his stallion, and as soon as Bernardo was behind him, kicked Tornado's sides.

An hour and a half later, Diego safely led his stallion into the cave while his loyal friend lighted the lantern.

"Gracias, Bernardo, you helped me out of a tight spot tonight," he said as he massaged his sore shoulder and escaped a moan when his ribcage complained at the movement.

The mute turned a worried glance toward him and grabbed his elbow as he leaned against the granitic wall.

"Bruises and scratches, nothing serious," Diego winced as he slid to sit on the ground, "I'm just tired."

Bernardo showed him the passageway, and joined his hands together to mime a pillow.

The young don shook his head and sighed. Though the cave's ground seemed appealing, what happened tonight was bothering him.

"I fear the two bandidos who kidnapped me are only scouts of a much bigger band. I heard them say that some of them could be captured tomorrow. They are planning an attack."

Bernardo frowned and slightly averted his eyes, obviously troubled.

"You know already?" Diego said.

The mute sighed and nodded. Then, he pointed his eyes and held his hand in front of him, palms turned to Diego and fingers spread.

Diego's brow darkened as he saw his friend moving his hands to add numbers.

"Thirty bandidos?" he asked, gasping.

Bernardo nodded again, grave.

Thunderstruck by the news, the young don took a deep breath and straightened back to his feet with his friend's helping hand.

"I have to attract Sergeant Garcia and his men back to the pueblo as soon as possible."

Tilting his head, Bernardo drew a Z into thin air with an imploring expression on his face.

"Sí, mi amigo. There is no rest for Zorro tonight."

* * *

Shortly after, the fox was riding the hills toward San Fernando, careful not to go too fast so as not to tax Tornado's strength for this was a three-hour ride, six back and forth. The sun would have risen for two hours by the time he would come back toward the pueblo of Los Angeles, the lancers hot on his heels.

Despite the wide area where the soldiers could be, he stayed in close vicinity of the Camino Real, confident that he would find them near the main road. Garcia and his men were exhausted too. And following procedures to the letter, the good sergeant would have settled their camp near a source of water for the beasts and the men alike.

And indeed, a tired smirk appeared on Zorro's lips, on top of a hill ten miles south of San Fernando .

While dawn was rising, he could see the tiny silhouettes at the bottom of a wooden bridge. As danger flooded his blood with a well needed adrenaline, he rode down the hill carefully and stopped, without triggering any alert, about fifty yards from the sleepy camp.

"Hey! Lancers!" he cried, sounding joyful, "What do you say about a little exercise before breakfast?"

The effect his words had was immediate. Not able to restrain his laugh, Zorro watched the settlement suddenly springing to life in a much disordered fashion. The fiercest storm would not have prompted a greater panic or caused more damages.

"Let go of your belongings, you baboso!" the sergeant shouted to a lancer that tried to pack his covers while another pitifully threw his opened saddle bag on the rump of his horse only to receive all his stuff on his feet. "Everybody mount up!" Garcia yelled. "And untie your horses first!"

Laughing now openly, Zorro waited for the first soldier to manage to do the operation in the correct order, and cried, "Four minutes and fifty-two seconds, Garcia. Your men do improve!"

Then, he made Tornado rear and broke off in a gallop.

The patrol hot on his heels, the fox rode back to the pueblo. By the time he reached the Devil's Hoof, the only place where he could be certain to stop the hunt and be listened to, a dull light announcing a rainy day dispelled the last remnants of the night. After jumping the middle platform and crossing the fault, he stopped Tornado and turned to deliver his warning.

"Sergeant! A large gang of bandidos are gathering from Capistrano. They will raid the pueblo today or tomorrow. Keep on your guards."

"Bandidos, Señor Zorro? How many?"

"At least thirty, maybe more."

"That is a lot."

"Indeed, Sergeant. Go back to the garrison and warn your comandante. I will pass the word to the vaqueros and peones so they can prepare and protect their homes."

"Sí, Señor Zorro. Muchas gracias," the imposing sergeant replied, "Muchachos? You heard Zorro!"

While the soldiers rode away as if the devil was on their heels, the fox let out a long sigh of relief in front of the accomplished task.

Feeling sore and dizzy, he stayed unmoving for a while. Though the light was not bright, his head was pounding painfully. Realizing that his eyes were closing by themselves and that he risked dozing off, he took a deep breath, and kicked Tornado's sides.

He had to go to Benito's house, then ride to Don Carlos' and Don Alfredo's haciendas to deliver the same warning to their head vaqueros. Once those three trustworthy men would know about the impending threat, the alert would spread like gun powder to the other ranchos, and maybe he would gain a few hours of rest before all hell breaks loose.


	6. Chapter 6

_Zorro goes fox hunting _

_Chapter 6_

* * *

A weak light filtered through the study window when Don Alejandro came in and sat at his desk, thoughtful.

He had received a letter yesterday afternoon. A letter that Diego had written a month before leaving Spain to head back home. By a strange combination of occurrences, it had arrived two months after his son's return. Probably the ship in which it had sailed had suffered some damages, and had to stop somewhere on the Atlantic shoreline for a very long time. The mail had then taken another, longer route.

The old don took his glasses out of his dressing gown's pocket, put them on his nose and seized the slightly wrinkled letter when a knock sounded on the door.

"Enter."

"Patrón, Padre Felipe is in the sala. He wishes to talk to you," Juan announced.

Intrigued by such a morning visit, Don Alejandro stood up. "Certainly. Bring us some coffee in the sala, Juan," he said, folding the letter and sliding it in his dressing gown's pocket before stepping out of his study to meet his old friend.

"Good morning, Padre," he said, stretching his hand.

Both men clenched each other's arm in greeting.

"I am sorry to disturb you so early, Alejandro, but I know you are as much an early bird as me."

The old don smiled. "Indeed. Come and sit down near the fireplace, the mornings are still a bit fresh at this time of year."

"Gracias. I have come to you because there is some important matter I wish to discuss with you," the fray said as they both sat down in the armchairs near the cracking fire.

Don Alejandro frowned upon seeing the Franciscan's serious glance. Was Monastario troubling the mission's peace again?

"I was just about to go and wake up Diego," he said, standing up again. The fray raised his hand, stopping him.

"Let your son sleep a bit longer this morning, Alejandro. He did seem truly exhausted when I talked to him yesterday afternoon."

"Well, he stubbornly insists on reading and composing late into the night despite his work on the rancho. However, if Monastario causes some trouble again, the governor has to be warned without further delay. Diego can ride to Monterey and be back in-"

"That devil is not the object of my visit, Alejandro. Actually, your son is."

The old don's eyes widened out of surprise. "Diego?"

"Unless I am unaware of another?" the fray smiled.

"Padre..." Don Alejandro sighed, though he did not take offense, all too used to his sharp tongue. "I am listening to you."

"Even if we were not in a confessional at the time, I won't betray Diego's confidence. However, I have known you both for long enough to stay passive while I see a serious gap installing between you. I am coming today as a worried friend."

The old don shifted in his armchair. "Now, you have me worried too, Felipe."

"And with reason. Yesterday evening, Paolo reported to me a conversation he overheard in the plaza between Diego, the sergeant and the capitán. Your son wanted to join the military campaign against Zorro."

Outraged by the news, Don Alejandro leaped to his feet.

"What?!" he barked, before casting a quick glance at the ceiling. Diego's bedroom was just above his head. With difficulty, he kept his voice low as he added, "Have his years in Madrid brainwashed him? Arresting Zorro? The only man who has the courage to stand up against Monastario!"

"Do not let yourself get carried away, Alejandro. Though I admit I was _almost_ as startled as you at first, I meditated long enough this night to see past my shock. It is no secret in the pueblo that Diego is a great disillusion for you since he came back. And after talking to him yesterday, I think your son is just desperate to find a way to redeem himself in front of your eyes."

If possible, Don Alejandro's eyes grew wider. "By joining sides with the tyrant? What is he thinking? By all saints, if he wishes to redeem himself, he just has to join Zorro!"

"The point is not there, Alejandro," the fray sighed, annoyed, "I never saw your son so lost. He obviously does not know anymore how to please you and to stay true to his new self in the same time. Tell me, did you ever ask Diego about how he felt to be back here?"

A long sigh escaped the old don's lips as he stopped pacing around. Shaking his head, he then sat back down in his armchair.

"I tried to talk to him, but each time, he finds an excuse and flies away. Then, I would hear his horrible guitar for hours, or see light filtering through his shutters until undue hours."

"Like an obedient son, Diego gave up his life in Madrid as soon as he received your letter, but I am afraid coming back to California could have cost him more than he says."

"I do not know,Felipe. I am at a loss to understand him. He is so _different._"

"He came back changed, indeed, more reflective, more controlled. In a word, he grew up. As a man, he is now more interested in philosophy than in war as you would wish him to."

"Not as much as I wish he is but as he was," Don Alejandro muttered. Since his return, Diego was but a pale figure, a ghost of himself. And the more he tried to shake him awake, the more he seemed to collapse. "You of all people, would you have ever thought that he would turn out like that? What could have happened to him?"

The Franciscan tilted his head and winced.

"A lot can happen in a young man's life in three years... though I only know one force in nature able to turn a man upside down so drastically."

As Don Alejandro sighed deeply, his hand touched the letter in his pocket. He had been too irritated yesterday evening by Diego's lifeless behavior during the meeting with the other dons, and had not felt compelled to read it. But now, he was.

Swallowing a lump, he unfolded the letter and stood up to pace around.

As he read his son's cheerful words, he felt his heart sinking, and had to sit down.

"Lolita del Tormès," he whispered after a moment, giving the letter to the fray so he could read it too.

Though Diego said little about his feelings, just that he was going to meet some distant family during her birthday party, he wrote her name down...

"Is she the great-granddaughter of-"

"The Duke of Tormès, sí, my grandfather's cousin by his mother's side." Alejandro paused, thoughtful before raising troubled eyes toward the fray. "Diego never mentioned a señorita before."

"And it was just before leaving. Did he go to the party?"

The old don shrugged his shoulder. "I do not know."

"Under a poet's quill often bleeds a broken heart," Fray Felipe said, a sad smile on the face.

Don Alejandro sighed and slumped further in his armchair under the weight of the Franciscan's words.

How could have he done this to his son?

Far from home, alone to deal with the overwhelming emotions of falling in love for the first time, and having this fresh, young passion snatched away a moment later. Because of him. Because he knew how obedient Diego was and knew he would straight away leave everything behind to come back to him, regardless of the costs for him.

"You have to talk to him, Alejandro. Do not let him struggle alone in his pain."

The old don sighed and shook his head. This was easy to say. Already, as a child, Diego confided little of his bruises and pains. One morning when he was seven or eight year old, he had noticed that he was limping.

_It's nothing, Father, I just jumped from too high!_

Where and how, Juan had managed to discover. Diego had fallen from his horse by attempting an uneasy jump.

His joyful and intrepid boy was sometimes stubbornly reserved, either from fear of being reprimanded or being too proud to admit a difficulty. This had not changed. Only the nature of the pains had. But was a father not meant to support his child? The certainty that Diego would not let him in his life saddened him.

Don Alejandro sighed, now recalling the harsh words he had pronounced the evening when his son had tried to convince the other dons not to go and free Don Nacho's wife and daughter. He had seen Diego's hurt glance. Their relations had been cooler since that day. Nowadays, his son almost avoided his presence, and when he was at his side, he could often feel that his mind was elsewhere.

If his heart had truly stayed in Spain and he came back as an empty shell, pushing him further could only break him.

"What kind of father could be so cruel to his son, Felipe?" he whispered to his self, heavyhearted, "I have been all but too hard on him lately."

"Do not crucify yourself, Alejandro. How could have you known? Besides, Monastario needed to be dealt with... Time will pass and soften the pain; other señoritas will cross his path. Till then, keep on taking him with you in the rancho for it is good to be tired when the quietness of the night falls, but accept his _eccentricities _if he needs them. They are only his way to mourn and find his place again."

"Well... I guess that I can endure his guitar for a few more-"

A sudden tumult outside interrupted the old don. As the gate opened, Don Alejandro raised to his feet. Through the window, he saw his head vaquero striding across the patio.

Worried, he went to his encounter when Benito entered in the sala, a rifle in hand.

"Patrón! Zorro just came to warn me that bandidos are about to attack the pueblo."

"Bandidos?" the old don frowned, his hand automatically searching for his sword, even if he did not have it.

"Madre de Dios!" Fray Felipe whispered.

"It is not all I am afraid, Patrón. On my way to the hacienda, I found Don Diego's palomino roaming the hills alone, saddled."

As his eyes grew wide with dread, Don Alejandro's heart missed a beat. His son!

* * *

_AN: Happy new year :-)_


	7. Chapter 7

_Zorro goes fox hunting_

_Chapter 7_

* * *

During the morning, a fresh wind blowing from the ocean pushed the rainy clouds further inland.

On top of a high hill overhanging the rocky and sparsely wooded plains between Los Angeles and Capistrano, Zorro took a deep breath to control a yawn and straightened on his saddle. The sun rays that now pleasantly warmed his back, adding to the quietness that prevailed on the countryside, made it more and more difficult for him to stay awake.

However, he knew better than to trust such peace. It bore the insidious atmosphere of a battlefield a short moment before the fight would burst. Thirty bandidos were lurking behind the hills rising on the horizon. Thirty decided, and dangerous, rogues.

As he scanned the landscape for their shadows, tiredness blurred his sight on the edges.

The fox rubbed his eyes and took the goatskin that Don Carlos had provided him along with some food in gratitude for his help today as well as for Don Nacho last month. Staying still was dulling his senses at a most critical moment. He needed to get moving, to get his blood flooding. Fresh water was not enough anymore to shake his lethargy away.

As to join the complaint, Tornado snorted.

"Sleep, mi amigo. I need you to be rested," the fox said, patting the beast's shoulder.

Tense, Zorro took a deep breath, straightened his back and looked at the terra cotta tiles and white adobe walls of Don Emilio's and Don Carlos' haciendas. Respectively half a mile on his left, and a bit over a mile away on his right, the two ranchos were separated by the river's sinuous course and el Camino Real.

The fox tightened his grasp on the small mirror in his hand.

From his position, he would detect the bandidos the moment they would set foot on either of the dons' lands. In the haciendas' courtyards, the head vaqueros were waiting for his signal. Two long blares if the rogues headed toward Don Carlos' lands, three short ones if toward Don Emilio's property. One long blare if toward both. Thirty men could feel overconfident and split. Zorro hoped they would just do this mistake.

Another tense sigh escaped the fox's lips as he glanced over his shoulder to check the path leading to the pueblo on his back. As he could not see very far, a slightly higher hill hiding the view, he lent an attentive ear to detect the sound of rolling rocks under the weight of horses.

Monastario, too, could decide to post sentinels in strategic places, and he expected to see a lancer appearing on the rocky formation overhanging his position. Despite the risk of being attacked from behind, he had chosen to mount watch at this place in order to be able to ride as fast as possible to the dons' help and organize the defense with the knowledge of from where the enemy would come and where they would head.

_Why were they not attacking yet? _The fox wondered, brow furrowed by a deep worry. Such wait was ordinarily insufferable. Today, it was an ordeal. What were they waiting for? What intel had the two bandidos gathered in the tavern yesterday? Would they go for the cuartel in order to free one of their own?

Monastario's filthy cells were always full of poor souls and rogues.

Zorro took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Even if it were the case, they would have to approach the pueblo first.

On his way here, he had stopped at the mission and asked a fray to climb in the bell tower to sound the alarm at the first shadow of trouble. Benito, under his advice, had posted two of his men on different high points overhanging his father's lands and sent warning to Don Nacho. The bandidos would not get closer than five miles without being spotted, no matter from where they came.

Fear for his father and Bernardo suddenly twisted Zorro's guts, and he clenched his jaw tight to not let out his anger.

His decision not to personally watch over them was gnawing at him.

But Zorro could not be seen on the de la Vega's lands while the bandidos were expected on the opposite side of the pueblo. It would certainly cause questioning and, in the end, could unveil his identity, a dreadful eventuality.

A flash of anger suddenly darkened the fox's eyes. A flash of anger directed to him. No matter Monastario's role in his predicament yesterday evening, a predicament that had permitted him to uncover a dangerous threat, it was his decision to be here, watching for Don Carlos and Don Alfredo instead of his father and Bernardo. His decision alone.

Zorro's costume never felt so heavy on his shoulders than right now.

The young don's jaw clenched. Was it not time to listen to his heart and give up the mask?

Tornado shifted and neighed. Stirred out of his dark thoughts, the fox raised his head and narrowed his eyes. A few miles on his right, a cloud of dust rose from el Camino Real a mile south of Don Carlos' hacienda. As the tiny spot slowly grew wider, Zorro straightened his grasp on the bridles, restraining his steed's will to burst into gallop.

"False alert, mi amigo," he finally muttered, patting Tornado's shoulder to sooth him.

It was only a peon, leading his barrow full of merchandises to the pueblo's plaza.

The fox's gaze followed him. Either the man had not received the warning, or decided to ignore it. He scanned the horizon when he detected a small cloud of dust rising on the far edge of Don Carlos' lands.

Zorro tightened his grasp on the mirror, thinking fast upon whether to send the signal for it was still far from the haciendas and whoever caused it did not seem to head toward the house or its annexes. On alert, he waited an instant more, until he realized that the cloud was moving toward the fields of fresh grass where a hundred head of cattle rested.

Deep inside him, a silent but sharp battle suddenly raged, his ranchero's blood against the fox's intincts.

The first was telling that the bandidos were about to steal a whole herd; the second objected that Don Carlos' reaction would be to straight away send his vaqueros to prevent the theft, thus leaving the hacienda, one of the richest on this side of the pueblo, free of defense.

The thought that Doña Sofía and the domestics were about to be brutalized made his blood turn into liquid fire.

Jaw clenched, Zorro waved the mirror to give the signal, and kicked Tornado's sides. Welcoming the action, the fox hurtled down the hill, cut across the uneven ground of the rocky plain, jumping over small rocks and bushes to ride as fast as possible to the hacienda.

He was reaching the dusty path that led to the rear entrance when suddenly, three bandidos sprung out of the courtyard and rushed toward him, pistols out.

Zorro's eyes widened as he forced Tornado to abruptly stop and veer off course toward the nearby river to take cover under the long and dense foliage of the weeping willows. Gunshots clashed. A grunt escaped the fox's lips when a bullet grazed his shoulder, though it was more out of rage of having been outrun and ambushed than out of pain.

Hunted, he pushed his stallion to gallop on the heavy terrain, ignoring the lash of the long branches on his face as they kept the bandidos from having a clear aim at his back.

Tornado's sides rose up and down, and the sound of his breath became louder. Aware that his loyal steed risked a fall, Zorro moved back toward the harder, though more exposed ground of el Camino Real.

But as he reached it in a curve, Tornado suddenly reared and threatened to throw him to the ground.

The fox's eyes widened as he found himself face to face with a dozen soldiers.

"Zorro!" Garcia exclaimed.


	8. Chapter 8

_Zorro goes fox hunting_

_Chapter 8_

* * *

"Zorro!" Garcia exclaimed, eyes bulging out of surprise.

In a split second, the fox saw half a dozen pistols aiming at him and as many swords drawing, ready to slice his head from his body.

_Caught!_

Incredulous, he stared at this stroke of bad luck. Though not long. The bandidos on his hunt suddenly sprung from the line of trees fifteen yards behind him. Horses neighed as their riders pulled them to an abrupt halt while the soldiers, startled, changed aim.

In such a situation, anyone else would have taken the opportunity to escape.

Not Zorro.

Out of instinct, he kicked Tornado's sides to push Garcia's horse out of the way just as gunshots burst. A bullet sliced the air near his head while another grazed his side. The soldiers riposted, and soon, the fox found himself swallowed in a disordered scrum. A soldier cried and fell to the ground on his left, while another on his right aimed at him with his pistol. Zorro bent in haste just as the lancer fired and hit one of his fellows instead.

"Sergeant! They're robbing Don Carlos' hacienda and his herd," Zorro cried while a lancer tried to grab him. Tornado rushed into his attacker's horse, causing a panic amongst the beasts. In the general confusion, the impact of hooves suddenly made the ground shake. The bandidos, out of ammunition, were riding away on el Camino Real.

Raising his head, Zorro met Garcia's gaze. His pistol in hand, the imposing soldier seemed unable to decide which prey to pick up first. So he chose for him.

"Sergeant Garcia! With me to Don Carlos' help!" he cried with authority, kicking Tornado's sides to throw himself at the rogues' heels, hoping that honor would forbid any of the lancers to shoot him in the back. A risky bet.

"Lancers! With Zorro!" Garcia cried.

The rallying cry took a terrible weight off his shoulders. Despite his pains, the feeling of force caused by the sounds of a dozen powerful horses behind him reinvigorated him, and he quickly gained ground on the runaway group. With his whip, he took one down and jumped on another to throw him off his saddle. The ground was slowly going down toward the river at this place. While on the road, the soldiers rode at full gallop by them without stopping; both men rolled down the slope, each trying to take the advantage on the other until they splashed into the waters.

Acting on sheer will of survival, the fox managed to make it to his feet before the bandido and punched him with a rage one could only summon on a battlefield. The man fell back in the muddy waters and disappeared below the surface, knocked out cold. With a grunt, Zorro seized his leg and dragged him on the bank to avoid drowning.

As he straightened up and raised his head to check his surroundings, his sore, battered body snatched him a moan of pain. Feeling his strength leaving him, he whistled for Tornado to come to him. At once, his steed answered his call, and stopped by his side. As he grabbed the pommel of the saddle, his wounded shoulder complained at the movement, and he fell on his knees, short of breath and head spinning.

Thanks to the strong bond uniting him to his caballero, Tornado seemed to understand the fox's state and delicately lowered on his forelegs, snatching the exhausted man a chuckle.

"Muchas gracias, mi amigo..."

As Tornado stood back up, the fox stared at the river and considered crossing it to ride back to his lair. A sigh escaped his lips. The soldiers were not in enough number if they fall on the whole gang of bandidos at Don Carlos'. The situation can reverse to the army's disadvantage any time and he was the one who had ordered the assault.

A sense of honor and responsibility rose. A commanding officer never left his troops alone on the field.

That thought made him arch an eyebrow. He was no army after all, and Garcia was not his subordinate.

_I am your friend, Don Diego, and friends do help each other..._

Zorro closed his eyes and nodded.

_Sí, Sergeant. Friends do help each other._

Despite his sorry state, the fox led Tornado back toward Don Carlos' hacienda.

However, he was not willing to make the same mistake twice and run freely into another ambush. So he rode at a cautious pace under the cover of the trees. Garcia had praised their friendship to Don Diego. Not to Zorro. He knew better than to trust this temporary _alliance_ with the army. It was against nature and could not last long.

The fox's brow furrowed as he acknowledged that the risks of being taken prisoner by the sergeant and his men had never been as high as in this precise moment.

Shortly after, the hooves' imprints that he and the bandidos had dug a moment before suddenly moved back up toward the dusty path.

Tense, Zorro dismounted, ordered Tornado not to move, and walked silently toward Don Carlos' hacienda. A few seconds later, he crept between some long branches and let out a sigh of relief.

Though he was too far away to make out the words of the conversation, it was obvious that Garcia and Don Carlos were not on the war path anymore. The bandidos had either ridden away or been arrested.

Without a sound, he retreated back into the dense foliage to lean against the trunk. It was now time to dress the wounds.

_And sleep._

Weighed down by his exhaustion and his multiple pains, though none of them was serious by itself, the fox mounted on his stallion and made him cross the quiet river. His lair was quite far away, almost twenty miles away; more today because he preferred to make a large detour than to risk being spotted by the soldiers. It was all too probable that Monastario had posted some men on high hills. It was what he would do. What he had done. Not underestimating the officer anymore, he made Tornado ride a long ellipse curve that would take him to his father's lands by the north.

Mile after mile, Tornado's swinging movement lulled him into a slight slumber as surely as a baby in his mother's arms. Several times, his head fell on his chest and in a jolt, he jerked it back straight.

"Rest is in front of us, mi amigo," he whispered to his stallion, though it was more to encourage himself to hold on. "The last mile..."

The fox closed his eyes.

A moment later, Tornado's sudden neigh of terror jerked him awake. Numb, he raised his head and gasped.

A large herd was rushing toward him.

The mortal danger of his position was more efficient to wake Zorro up than a bucket of icy water thrown to his face. Not used to being so close to cattle – and even less of having cattle rushing toward him – Tornado reared in panic and flung his caballero from the saddle before breaking off in gallop.

The fox felt the impact on the ground before realizing he had fallen. A ground that was shaking under the beasts' stampede, while the air, filled with their cries, became opaque by the dust rising from their hooves.

Groggy, Zorro pushed on his arms, and in a last spurt of effort, made it to his feet and staggered away, legs wobbly, toward a nearby ravine. As soon as he reached it, his stiff and wounded body collapsed. Exhaustion, more than pain, was taking its toll and he rolled down fast, unable to bring himself to a halt.

"Señor Zorro!"

The fox opened his eyes and saw a blurry face staring at him in the sun.


	9. Chapter 9

_Zorro goes fox hunting_

_Chapter 9_

* * *

A hand on his arm startled the fox.

Eyes springing open, he rose on his elbows fast. But a searing pain in his side, left shoulder and back made him crash on the mattress and pant in the darkness.

"Easy, my son, easy," a reassuring voice made, "You are safe."

Zorro opened his eyes again, and frowned. "Father?" he asked, peering at the obscurity, disoriented. Though he did not dare to move yet, the flame of a candle cast a soft orange glow on the bare ceiling above him. He was not in the hacienda...

"One usually calls me Padre," the voice corrected with a certain amusement.

The fox turned his head to his left and blinked. Slowly, the Franciscan's jovial face came into focus.

"Padre Felipe..." he whispered, feeling his heart speeding in his chest. Anxious, he raised a hesitating hand to his face.

"Do not worry, my son, I did not remove your mask. Your identity is still a secret to me."

Zorro stared at the religious man and released a breath he was not aware he was holding. He knew there was no lie in his mouth, but was the mask that concealed his upper face enough to resist to a close inspection?

A dull numbness seized him.

Feeling he was going to drift back to sleep, he took a deep breath and sat up with difficulty, grateful for the fray's helping hand when his body ached so much that he almost gave up all idea of movement.

"How do you feel, my son?" the latter asked with concern in his voice.

Both hands clinging on the edge of the bed, Zorro stared at the brown tiles covering the ground, breathing deeply. The last thing he remembered was the vision of being swallowed by a stampede.

"Sore... but alive," he replied after a moment.

If he still had his pants and boots, his cape, gloves and shirt had been removed; white bandages circled his waist and his left shoulder. A pasty green ointment oozed from them, smelling slightly of wild thyme.

Not daring yet to stand up, he raised his head and asked, "Please, tell me what happened."

"Don Alejandro's head vaquero, Benito, found you in a ravine and brought you here to be tended."

The fox faintly smiled, a feeling of gratitude rising toward the man who once played with him as a child, and rode his father's lands at his side, back and forth to discover every nook and cranny. Did his loyal head vaquero know who he had truly saved today? The question darkened the fox's brow. This was very well possible.

"Of what he told me, you are lucky to be alive," the fray sighed.

Pale, Zorro nodded. He had never given much thought about his possible death; Bernardo already worried enough for the matter. A shadow troubled his gaze as he rubbed his neck. Had the noose marred his flesh?

"The bandidos," he asked suddenly, one dreadful thought replacing the other, "did they attack the de la Vega hacienda?"

Fray Felipe's eyes widened briefly before darkening with a concern that made the fox's heart beat faster.

"Padre?"

"Thanks to your warning, Don Alejandro had everybody out of the hacienda and hiding in the outbuildings before the bandidos arrived."

The fox frowned, not understanding.

"Why? It was the safest place to be!"

The fray smiled. "You do not know Don Alejandro very well then," he said, opening el Zorro's eyes wide, "He wanted to set a trap for the bandidos if their plan was to ransack his home by opening the way."

A soft chuckle escaped the fox's lips. His father was not one to attack and he hoped the bandidos had learnt it at their expense.

"So I take it all turned out well?" he asked, uncertain because he read on the fray's face opposite emotions.

The Franciscan sighed and briefly averted his eyes.

"A vaquero came to warn that the rogues were stealing the herd. Benito and five others left to take it back. Don Alejandro kept only two men with him and hid in the stables and the forge. The bandidos came using the rear courtyard's entry, as he expected... but they were too many."

The fray paused, obviously troubled.

"Padre... what happened next?" the fox asked, eyes wide with fear. Had something happened to his father?

"In the gun fight that ensued, three bandidos managed to seek shelter in the hacienda and stumbled upon Don Diego's deaf mute servant. They took him hostage, and used him to escape when the soldiers came to the rescue."

Numb, Zorro's mind processed the information. Had the fray not said that his father had evacuated the hacienda? How come Bernardo was still inside then? He bit his lips to keep from escaping a curse. His friend must have been into the cave or the secret room next to his bedroom when his father had seen all the domestics out. Alerted by the gunshots, Bernardo had probably walked out and gotten prisoner.

"I am afraid it is not all. Two hours ago, Don Alejandro received a ransom demand for his son."

This last news made Zorro jerk his head straight and pushed him up to his feet.

"Do not tell me he acknowledged their terms!" he exclaimed, feeling the fray's hand grabbing his elbow as he swayed slightly.

"What could he do? Don Diego is his only child," Fray Felipe replied, desperate, "He passed by here less than thirty minutes ago to warn me and check on you."

"On me?"

"Benito told him you were here, and he wanted to know if you could be of some assistance as your knowledge of the hills is well known."

Struck, the fox almost collapsed on the bed. That his father had stepped in this room, saw him, and walked away thinking he was going to save his son without realizing that he had him under his very eyes was beyond belief.

"And what of the deaf mute servant?" he asked when he was able to speak again.

"We still do not know his fate."

Jaw clenched, Zorro staggered toward the chair in the corner to grab his shirt.

When he stepped out of the little room an instant later, the crepuscular sky was of a deep, dark blue and stars began to shine. Above the line of trees growing in the cemetery, the decreasing moon formed a fragile crescent. A bulky shadow suddenly crept out the obscurity in front of him.

"Tornado!" the fox exclaimed as his stallion gently nudged him in the chest, "Are you all right, mi amigo?"

"He followed Benito from afar and guarded your door. Paolo tried to take him away in order to hide him in case the soldiers would come by, but he would not obey. Several times, I wondered if he would let me back in the room with you if I got out. You are blessed with a rare bond."

"He would have. He has a way of knowing who is friendly to me," Zorro replied, mounting on the stallion's back. "Do you know where Señor de la Vega was asked to bring the ransom?" he added, his last words finishing in a yawn.

"I am not so sure anymore that it was wise for me to wake you up. You need to rest."

"As you said, I know my way around here."

"You gave the vulnerable souls courage to face their hard life and any injustice that might fall upon them because they have faith in you to protect them. If you were to fall, I fear all this hope you gave them would be crushed to never rise again."

The fox swallowed a lump in his throat, and nodded.

"I understand your point, Padre, but I would not forgive myself if something bad happened to the de la Vegas and I did not try anything to prevent it from happening."

"Then, ride fast to the fork leading to the lion rock and may Dios sent all his angels to protect you, my son."

In the half darkness, Zorro bowed his head to thank the fray, and kicked Tornado's side. His father was almost an hour ahead of him and had probably reached the fork or was about to reach it. There was no time to lose.


	10. Chapter 10

_Zorro goes fox hunting _

_Chapter 10_

* * *

From the mission San Gabriele, Zorro rode north through the wooded lands, tense. He knew exactly between which shadow of rock, bush or tree lay the pastoral path and, despite the darkness, he led Tornado with a firm hand on it. The stallion, reassured by his caballero's confidence, rode across the uneven terrain at a good pace.

At the corner of a curve, the fox pulled his steed to a stop and peered at his surroundings. The Fork was visible less than fifty yards ahead; a protruding, massive shadow above the trees. The hundred-foot high rock had been nicknamed this way because it chopped the road in two smaller paths, one going back down in the valley, the other climbing further up toward a high plateau on which a pile of rocks looking like a lion lying in the grass stood.

Zorro dismounted and, after tying Tornado's bridle to a nearby tree, carefully walked the rest of the way.

But to his dismay, the place, when he reached it, was lifeless. Fray Felipe had mentioned the Lion Rock. Maybe the bandidos had taken or attracted his father there? Maybe his father had asked to see his son before giving the money? A sigh of deep frustration escaped the fox's lips. Why would the bandidos yield to his father's demands? They did not have the merchandise and were in a dominant position. That made no sense.

Obeying an urge, Zorro moved a bit to the right of the rock, removed his gloves, and caressed the rough surface to find a crack. Though the climb felt exhilarating, when he hauled himself on the top a few minutes later, he was glad that it was not higher. Painfully aware that he had overestimated his strength, he stayed on his knees for a moment, catching his breath and waiting for the pain in his side and shoulder to lower to a more comfortable level. A flash in the sky caught his eyes. Slowly, he straightened up and stared at the landscape.

The horizon on the south west was dark with clouds of a storm. The fox took solace in the absence of wind. It was still far away.

Dismissing the thought, Zorro looked down at the valley stretching at his feet. It was too dark to see anything. Where was his father? The fox moved carefully on the crest to get a better view on the lion. But then again, he could not see much beyond a few feet. Tonight, nature was as dark as the bottom of a bottle of ink. Why had his father accepted to meet the bandidos in such dreadful conditions? It was too easy to set an ambush.

Fear, sorrow and rage seized the young don's heart all at once, triggering a dizzy turn that almost caused him to lose his balance. Cautious, he crept a dozen feet further to reach a point where the rock was less abrupt and high, crouched and slid half way down before jumping the last ten feet.

A moan escaped his lips as he felt his wounded side complaining painfully at such audacity. One knee on the ground, he was trying to take back his breath when a neigh suddenly sounded. He did not have any time to react as he felt a very sharp point on his neck.

"At last," a fawning voice said, "I finally have you at the mercy of my blade, Señor Zorro."

The fox's eyes widened out of dread while a cold sweat pearled on his forehead. _Monastario!_

"Get up, so you can die like a man. I will not-"

"Put your weapon down!" another voice suddenly barked.

Zorro froze. His heart raced in his chest. Who was this?

"Do you know who you are talking to, insolent fool! I am Enrique Sanchez Monastario, Capitán in the King's Army and Commandante of the Pueblo of Los Angeles!" the officer shot back while pressing the tip of the sword in the fox's neck and drawing blood.

"I know perfectly who you are," the man replied with a sharp tone showing that he was not impressed, "Put your weapon down and raise your hands above your head."

"Then you are a traitor to the crown, and I swear I will find out who you are and have you hung next to this-"

The capitán did not finish his threat; his body suddenly crashed on the ground. Relieved to feel the deadly pressure vanishing, the fox straightened up and pivoted to face his savior. A chuckle escaped his lips. Benito was standing in front of him, holding his pistol by the barrel.

"Muchas gracias, Señor. I am twice in your debt today," the fox said, bowing his head in gratitude.

"Not at all, Señor Zorro," the head-vaquero replied, "Coming to your help is a great honor."

The fox nodded, cheered up by such praise.

Together, the two men quickly dragged the unconscious officer toward a tree where they tied him to the trunk. After gagging him, Zorro drew the vaquero out of ear reach to talk, for he was not certain that Monastario was completely out at sea and preferred to keep their words to them alone.

"Where is Don Alejandro?" he whispered.

"He went with the bandidos to the Lion Rock."

"Alone?"

"Sí."

The fox cast an alarmed glance at the narrow path. "That is folly."

"Not as much as it looks. We set a plan that he would go first, while I would follow shortly after with the major part of the ransom and hide it in the middle of the bushes growing at the end of the fork. The plan was to make sure that Don Diego was still alive. If so, Don Alejandro would lead them to the money, but only with his son at his side. With two other fellows, we stand ready to jump on the scum as soon as they appear."

The fox's eyes widened out of surprise at the last statement.

What?! Three men – four if he counted Monastario – were lurking in the dark around here and he had not seen them? The padre was right. Exhaustion made him vulnerable to mistakes. Potentially lethal mistakes.

"Did they say anything about the manservant who was kidnapped?" he asked, deeply worried for Bernardo.

Benito shook his head. "We can only hope."

Zorro let out a tense sigh. Hope. Sí. He did hope that his friend was still alive. Most probably the bandidos held Bernardo and had decided to ask a ransom for him. When they realized they were dealing with Alejandro de la Vega, they determined they would get a bigger amount for a rich scion than for a domestic. How desperate his father would feel upon seeing Bernardo instead of him!

At least the old don had not walked blindly into a trap.

A shared feeling of pride, guilt and shame rose from his heart. Pride to see the vaqueros' loyalty toward his father; pride of this latter's witty ability to set a counter trap. But guilt that this was somehow his fault, and shame that, in this difficult moment, he was not the one standing next to his father.

Though he could not, could he? He was supposed to be kidnapped. No doubt the bandidos assumed him half dead in a ravine somewhere between Capistrano and Los Angeles. This masquerade had to end.

Feeling his nerves on edge, Zorro walked away to take a few deep breaths.

A howling sounded.

"It's the signal," Benito whispered.

While Zorro climbed back up the Fork, and stayed crouched in the darkness so his silhouette would not stay in the shadows, Benito moved back to hide behind the trunk of a secular cypress.

Holding his breath, the fox lent an attentive ear and soon distinguished the sound of hooves hitting the ground. His sharp eyes peered at the path going down from the lion rock, and after a moment, he saw them. Four silhouettes on horse, and one man walking. If he had no doubt that the latter was Bernardo, he could not decipher yet which shadow belonged to his father.

His back and shoulder aching under the tension, he waited for the group to come closer.

"So, where's the money?" one barked, "Give it to us or this little man has less than ten seconds to breath!"

Like a cougar, Zorro jumped from his position on the bandido who had spoken. The next second, the hidden vaqueros leaped out of hiding, each taking care of a rogue.

"By all saints, let me go, Manuel!"

"Sorry, patrón!"

Sitting astride on his bandido, Zorro's eyebrows arched in surprise, and a smirk appeared on his face when he punched the man out cold.

Thanks to the effect of surprise, the fight was short.

The fox straightened with a wince of pain. This last stunt had done no good on his wounds, and relief caused a serious drop of energy. Noticing that Manuel was already cutting Bernardo's bonds, he crawled toward the rock and leant his back against it to catch his senses.

"Are you all right, patrón?" Benito asked, coming out of the trees with a torch.

"Where is my son?" Don Alejandro's angry voice suddenly barked.

Startled, Zorro raised his head and saw his father grabbing the bandido at his feet by the collar and shaking him back to consciousness. At once, Manuel and José lifted the groggy man on his feet, twisting his arm to hold him tight.

"Answer!" Benito spat, taking out a knife and threatening to pierce the bandido's throat with it to force him to hold his head straight.

The fox shuddered, his heart racing again in his chest.

"I do not know, Señor," the bandido said in a moan of pain, "Monastario paid us to kidnap him yesterday evening..."

"What? Who did you say?" Don Alejandro asked.

"The capitán... he wanted us to give your Don Quixote of a son a taste of real adven-"

"Madre de Dios... What did you do to my son?" the old don asked again, his voice but a murmur.

In the feeble light, Zorro saw sheer shock distorting his father's old face.

"Your son is safe, Señor de la Vega," he said.

Every gaze turned on him. The fox bit his lower lip, embarrassed. His heart had spoken without consulting his mind first, and now he had to find an explanation quick.

"Are you hurt, Señor?" Don Alejandro asked in front of his silence.

"It has been a long day," he replied before taking a deep breath, and pushing on the rock and ground to stand up.

"Do you know where my son is, Señor?"

A mischievous gleam sparkled in the fox's eyes. This was his chance to make the better of it and restore his image.

"Not exactly, but I stumbled upon him yesterday evening near Capistrano, camping in a clump of trees where I used to rest. He told me what had happened to him, that two bandidos had kidnapped him and how he managed to escape their hands. He also told me that he had overheard them talking and suspected an imminent attack on the pueblo. Though he was quite far from home and without horse, he insisted that I leave him there to warn the soldiers as quickly as possible. So I gave him the little water and provisions I had with me and did as he wished. To my dismay, I confess that I had forgotten all about him until Fray Felipe told me about this ransom request. Now I see this scum did not overtake him so I assume he is still out on his way back to the pueblo."

"Gracias Dios..." the old don whispered, joining his hands together in a silent prayer, before adding, "Capistrano is at least a three day walk from the pueblo. Diego must be camping again tonight."

Zorro nodded, sharing the relief his father felt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bernardo looking at him, a hand on his heart. To some extent, and maybe even more than the others, his loyal friend had been scared by the turn of events, and was now deeply relieved too.

Discreetly, he nodded to him.

"Benito, Manuel, José, tie this scum behind a horse and drag them back to the cuartel. I will take Bernardo back to the hacienda before leaving again to search the hills."

While the vaqueros acknowledged and moved to carry out the orders with a certain enthusiasm, Zorro stepped forward.

"A storm threatens to burst, Señor de la Vega, it is unwise to go roaming the plains tonight."

He did not like the idea of his father riding into the night for nothing. He was safe by all saints!

"I know, Señor Zorro, but Diego-"

"Will have found a shelter to pass the night. He seemed resourceful enough to stand on his own in the wild when I talked to him last night, or else I would not have left him alone." _Trust me, Father..._

The two men exchanged a grave and silent look. Don Alejandro was nodding when Benito asked, "And what about el capitán?"

A dangerous smirk appeared on Zorro's lips. "If you allow me, Señores, I have a score to settle with this _gentleman. _If I understood Don Diego correctly, I think that, actually, Monastario wanted to use him as bait to trap a certain fox."

Don Alejandro and the others exchanged a stunned look.

"Oh! No harm will be done to him, I give you my word of honor," he added, watching with pleasure his father casting daggers at the unconscious officer. The man had it too easy right now. Definitively too easy. That would change shortly.

"Then, do as you please, Señor Zorro," Don Alejandro smirked.

Matching the smile, the fox bowed his head, saluted, and whistled for Tornado.

* * *

_AN: No, no, no, this is not the last chapter ;-) Are you not curious about what our fox has in store for our capitán? And will he get his sleep finally?_


	11. Chapter 11

_Zorro goes fox hunting_

_Chapter 11_

* * *

Later that evening, Zorro wandered the plains under a lashing rain like a solitary rider. Though alone, he was not. Twenty feet behind him, Monastario staggered, his hands tied in front of him by a rope that the fox had secured around the pommel of his saddle. And though he let Tornado ride at a slow pace, to say that he was roaming without goal would have been wrong. Zorro knew exactly where he was heading.

Not for the first time since he and his prisoner had left the fork, he felt some slack on the rope. With a smirk, he sharply tugged on it. A grunt sounded behind, quickly followed by a curse and, finally, an insult.

Beneath his mask, Zorro's smile grew wider.

"Be brave, Capitán, old Pedro's barn is just two miles away," he strutted about.

This time, the threat to be condemned to the gallows did not ensue. Instead, he got a promise of a slow and most painful death.

Under the rain, Zorro clenched his jaw. He would have laughed if laughing was not so painful, indicating that sometime this evening, he had aggravated an injury or broken a rib.

It was well past midnight by the time the fox dragged an exhausted and very drenched capitán into the barn, a small pen with a ramshackle roof where sheep and goats slept. Baas sounded as he opened the unstable gate and pushed his prisoner in the makeshift shelter under the threat of his blade.

Disturbed in their sleep, the beasts moved around. A particularly angry male goat jerked his head to his side and hit the officer's thighs.

"I swear I will kill you for this!" this latter barked as Zorro forced him to clear a path in the crowded barn.

"Well, well, well, Capitán, it is not as bad as it seems. Look, the roof is almost intact!"

The sarcastic comment hit home as Monastario could not help but let an indignant growl.

"Sit down against this pillar."

The officer complied, and soon found himself tied solidly to the post, drops of rain falling on his forehead every second or so. Behind him, the fox tugged on the edge of the rope to ensure that it was knotted tight when the capitán suddenly yelled.

"Get off me!"

Intrigued, Zorro glanced over the man's shoulder and smirked. A sheep was lying on Monastario's knees while two goats leaked and _browsed_ his hair! The pastoral spectacle snatched him a chuckle. Clenching his teeth to keep a moan of pain silent, the fox slowly straightened up and moved in front of the officer to face him a last time.

"I would stay to keep you company, but I see that it is not necessary, mi Capitán!"

The rage the man must feel was obviously so strong that whatever insult escaped his lips sounded more like a growl. In answer, the sheep on his lap raised its head and baaed, provoking a painful burst of laughing in the fox.

"I will make sure that Sergeant Garcia finds you sometime tomorrow. Buenas noches, mi Capitán!"

After saluting, Zorro stepped out and closed the gate behind him, but not fast enough. With a smile, he caught a fleeing kid in his arms and put it back into the pen. Exhausted but utterly pleased by this farce, he then headed toward Tornado. It was time to get his rest.

* * *

_**Two weeks later**_

The songs of early morning birds slowly stirred Diego out of sleep.

Eyes opened, he stayed in his bed without moving for a long moment, staring at dawn dispelling the shadows away. Feeling slightly uncomfortable lying on his back, he shifted and very cautiously turned on his left, uninjured side. Though it caused him pain, the movement, for once, did not feel like being sliced in two by a blade. A significant improvement.

Relief relaxed the young don's jaw. He felt better than he had in days.

Encouraged by this regain in energy and deciding to use it to go and breathe some fresh air, he shifted a bit closer to the edge of the bed, slid his legs out of the covers and, holding his breath, sat up in a single move. To his satisfaction, the room stayed in focus and the pain at a bearable level.

Clenching his teeth, he then stood up and froze with a wince when the hard floor creaked loudly under his weight. Heart beating in his chest, he suspiciously looked at the door. For this attempt to sneak out of his bedroom was not the first and the two previous ones had failed miserably.

Once, the exact time was fuzzy in his mind, Bernardo had found him collapsed in the middle of the mile long tunnel between the hacienda and Zorro's lair. Unable to move anymore, shivering from his fever, he had not even reached the cave and Tornado. A pitiful moment that had kept him from trying again until two days ago.

In the declining sun, he had made it as far as the last step of the mezzanine staircase, setting a foot in the patio when Maria had walked out of the sala and spotted him. Inflexible, she had succeeded to force him back upstairs and into his bed when his father, alerted by the commotion, had walked out of his study and joined this conspiracy to force him to rest.

But today, he truly felt better.

Relieved not to hear any steps hurrying toward his room, Diego headed toward his wardrobe on his tip toes and set himself to the task to dress.

Alas, he was struggling to put on his socks when the door opened on Bernardo.

The young don let out a sigh of dismay. His friend must have a sixth sense; it was not possible otherwise.

"I know what you are thinking and no is my answer," Diego said before his friend could express his disapproval, adding with an irritated tone, "I am developing bed sores by all saints!"

The mute crossed his arms on his chest and sent him his best mother hen reproachful glance.

"Bernardo, there is nothing you can do to make me lie back," he added, throwing his socks away in frustration before getting up and limping straight toward the door.

But far from being impressed by this strong determination, Bernardo blocked his path, and with a funny, angered face, waved his fists in front of him like a boxer.

Diego could not help but laugh.

And regretted it right away for his broken ribs recalled him how unwise this reaction still was.

Teeth clenched, the young don threw a hand on the back of the elbow chair and took shallow breaths to ease the searing pain. After a moment, he raised his eyes and saw his friend looking at him with worry. The young don straightened up, and let go of the chair as if he had burnt himself. No way would he capitulate today.

"I am fine, Bernardo. Not fine enough to ride maybe, but fine enough to stand up and move around."

The mute let out a deep sigh and nodded before suddenly raising a hand in the air to stop him a moment. Then, he picked up the socks on the ground and waved him to sit down in the chair.

"Gracias, mi amigo," Diego smiled, though he was feeling a bit embarrassed to require the help.

Twenty minutes later, a soft breeze caressed Diego's clean shaven cheeks as he beheld the vastness of his father's lands from the mezzanine. The peace he had felt the first morning of his return from Spain invaded him again. Spring blossomed everywhere his eyes lay upon. The rocky meadows were of a tender green; wisteria's sweet flagrance perfumed the outside walls and rose-bay shrubs dyed the corners in fuchsia. His gaze focused on the small white buds on the branches of the tree in the middle of the patio. Soon it would be as white as snow.

A growing urge to go straight to the stables and take his palomino out for a ride tensed his limbs. Considering seriously to go back on his word, he glanced at Bernardo who was standing next to him, admiring the landscape too.

As their eyes met, Bernardo suddenly frowned and raised a finger in the air. Perplexed, Diego watched him disappear back into the bedroom. What could his friend have forgotten? A few seconds later, the young don got his answer. Now he was certain of it. Bernardo did not need to read on lips. He read straight through minds. With a sigh of frustration, he cast a look on the book his friend had just given to him, and chuckled at the underlying message.

_El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha... _Of course, this one story was in his library.

"I promise you, Bernardo, from now on, I will stick to my role and my role only."

The mute nodded, obviously satisfied.

"But only Dios knows what would have happened if Monastario did not have me kidnapped..."

Bernardo shook his head as if a cold shudder ran down his spine.

"Not a very pleasant thought to prospect, mi amigo?" Diego asked, adding with a hint of mischief, "So, finally, my little misadventure was not entirely a bad thing."

At this last statement, Bernardo let out a very deep sigh. His brow furrowed and, with his fists on his hips, he nodded toward the bedroom when Don Alejandro's door creaked open.

"Ah! I thought it was your voice I heard, Diego, but by all saints, what do you think you are doing out of bed?"

The young don tensed up, and pivoted carefully.

Knotting the belt of his dressing gown, the old don stared at him with a sharp, assessing gaze.

Aware of Bernardo sending daggers at his back, Diego's mind raced to find a sidetrack to escape this ambush and avoid being locked up in his bedroom for the day. As often, his eyes automatically rose up. _The roof?_ Diego shook the idea away. He was not in the presidio. Unfortunately, he wished he were.

"Buenos dias, Father," he said with as relaxed a smile he could conjure up.

"Buenos dias, my son. It warms my heart to see that you are feeling better," his father replied, returning the smile.

"So do I," Diego said, twice relieved.

"Will you take breakfast with me?"

"With pleasure, Father."

A moment later, father and son entered the sala, Bernardo following not far behind. While the latter headed toward the kitchen to get them churros and café con leche, Diego slowly climbed down the couple of steps toward the long table already laid for breakfast. His father stared at him with worry but did not voice his concern, a restraint the young don appreciated.

"Ah, my son, I feel I must apologize to you," Don Alejandro finally said, moving back toward the fireplace and resting his hands on the carved wood of the back of an armchair.

With a wince, Diego sat down in the one at the bottom of the steps. "Apologize? For what, Father?"

The old don let out a long sigh, then moved around to sit down before saying, "The morning the bandidos attacked, Benito found your horse roaming alone in the hills. I so much feared that you had been injured or worse... But..." Don Alejandro paused and briefly looked down. "I protected the hacienda instead of searching for you, Diego. For this I must ask you pardon."

Diego felt his guts wrenching. So his father was feeling guilty not to have come to his assistance. A guilt that found a dark echo in his own heart.

"You protected the domestics, Father, there is no shame in that. And to what Benito explained to me, everything happened so fast that morning that it did not leave you much of a choice. It is easy to find faults in our behavior in the aftermath of an ordeal, but in the heat of the moment... You did what you could do and what you had to do."

Diego looked kindly at his father as he pronounced these words, wishing only to ease the torment he read in the old don's eyes. Though it did nothing on his own. Unlike his father, he had time to rationalize his decision while he was watching Don Carlos' and Don Alfredo's lands.

Don Alejandro smiled faintly and nodded. "You are right, my son, but this day I fear will leave a dark mark on my soul for a very long time. Our family holds a great debt toward Zorro. I am more than grateful that he was able to find you in this storm."

"So do I, Father, so do I," Diego replied, though his gratitude went to Bernardo.

A silence fell as the young don suddenly found himself jerked back two weeks ago.

Though soaked and stiff from pain, he had, with Bernardo's help, gotten out of the fox's clothes and back into the caballero's suit he wore the night of his kidnapping. Aware that his father would leave the hacienda to scour the hills between the pueblo and Capistrano as soon as the storm would ease or dawn rise, whichever came first, he had decided to go back camping into the wild when Bernardo had convinced him to drink and eat first.

Then, he did not remember anything that had happened until he had awoken in his bedroom, Padre Felipe and his father talking with low voices at his bedside. Upon seeing that his eyes were opened, his father had smiled to him and told him that Zorro had brought him back, sometime in the middle of the night, three days ago.

"Diego?" Don Alejandro called.

Startled, the young don raised his head and saw Bernardo holding a cup of coffee to him. "Oh! Gracias."

"The only important thing now is that you are safe, my son. And also that you showed those bandidos that a de la Vega did not let himself be captured like a common goat."

That last statement snatched a laugh from Diego as it recalled him in which predicament he had left the capitán. Like before with Bernardo, his laugh ended in a hiss of pain.

"I'm going to fetch you some laudanum," his father said, getting up.

Diego raised his hand to stop him. "It is not necessary, Father," he said, hating the feeling of floating that came with each swallowing of the drug mixed in brandy. The last thing he wanted was to find himself sleeping through his day once more. He needed activity, not rest.

"Don't be foolish, my son, you do not need to suffer."

"I am fine, Father. It is not really that painful anymore," Diego insisted.

The old don shook his head. "This is the de la Cruz stubborn blood speaking."

Diego's eyes widened, not believing his ears. "As if the de la Vega's side lacked this quality!"

"Ah! But on many aspects, your mother was more stubborn than me. The only person on earth who could make me cower. Ah! My son... As strange as it is, I only wish for you to enjoy this one day."

Diego chuckled. To enjoy being forced to cower?! That sounded a dreadful fate to him. And maintaining this fraud was already tough as it was. He did not wish to be placed in front of choices he was not ready to make. At least, not until Monastario was defeated. After, maybe. Life would tell.

"There was another matter I wanted to discuss with you, Diego. I delayed it long enough. Tell me honestly. Do you regret being back here? Would you have rather remained in Spain?"

The young don raised a startled eyebrow and frowned. "What would make you think such a thing, Father?"

"Well, for one, your lack of enthusiasm toward a ranchero's simple life. I understand by your letters that life in Madrid was hectic, while here..."

Diego sighed, at a loss about what to reply.

"I left some very good friends in Madrid, that is true. And I was disappointed to see that most of my childhood friends had left the pueblo..." he said, though he knew it was safer that way.

Some of his friends would have been quick to uncover his comedy. Don Audre in particular; Don Carlos' son would have cornered him the first week and forced him to spill the beans. Though it pleased him to think that he would have gained an ally.

The young don sighed again and shook his head.

"I understand your loneliness too well, my son."

"Loneliness?" he frowned.

"You are too old now to go and have fun with the vaqueros, like you enjoyed as a child. And Sergeant Garcia's company, despite his honorable size, cannot fill the void left by your friends."

Diego bit his lips.

"To my surprise, Father, I find Garcia's friendship quite pleasant."

A smile appeared on the young don's face. Bernardo had explained to him that the good sergeant had taken care of a sick and very irritable capitán for the last week. Maybe it would be a good idea to go to the pueblo and pay the brave soldier a cup of wine. He would also have to go by the mission tonight, and ask Fray Felipe's permission to lead their herd of goats straight into the garrison. Just for the pleasure to see Monastario's face purpling with rage and shame.

"Diego?"

Once again startled while lost in his thoughts, the young don raised his eyes and with a genuine smile, said, "No, Father. Do not worry. I am glad to be back here."

"This answer takes a load off of my shoulders, my son," Don Alejandro sighed.

The two men ate their breakfast and talked some more. But when Diego winced when he stretched his arm to put down his cup of coffee on the side table, his father frowned with worry.

"You should go back lying down in your bed, Diego. Doctor Avilla insisted upon not exerting yourself."

"Sitting in a chair can hardly qualify as exerting, Father."

"No, indeed, but extricating yourself from it will, trust me," the old don said, standing up, "I have already broken two ribs when I was about your age. A bad fall from my horse in a jump. I did not do as advised and I dragged the pain for a couple of months."

Diego shook his head and smiled. "And Mother did not manage to make you cower on this?"

"She threatened to tie me to the bed," Don Alejandro laughed before adding with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, "A fate I will threaten you with if you do not cower, my son!"

Diego softly chuckled as he watched his father stretching a helping hand toward him. With a nod, he seized it.

_The end_

* * *

_AN: Thank you so much for all your reviews and support :-) And very special thanks to you IcyWaters for your immense patience at correcting my stories and all the good joy you transmit :-)  
_


End file.
